Reaching for Arcadia
by ibreak4CSI
Summary: [Literati] Before him, I didn't realize what I had been missing.


**Summary: (Literati) Before him, I didn't realize what I had been missing.**

**Setting: Mid season two.**

**Notes: This jumped into my head a few days ago while I was listening to my Anna Nalick CD for the thousandth time or so. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing. The lyrics of the very first line are from Anna Nalick's "In My Head," which I don't own. The characters are from **_**Gilmore Girls,**_** which I also don't own. I mention **_**Sports Illustrated**_**, Hemingway, **_**Howl**__**The Sound and the Fury,**_** and other things I have currently forgotten. I don't own any of those either.**

**Reaching for Arcadia**

_Under the weight of your wings, I make believe you are all that I'll ever need_

In my head, Dean is the perfect boyfriend.

My mother likes him -- he changes the water bottle -- he watches movies with us, he's attractive, he's fun, he's a good kisser, and he loves me.

Of course, there's the slight fact that I practically had to shove _Anna Karenina_ down his throat; he would rather read _Sports Illustrated_ than Tolstoy. But that doesn't bother me. I have met only one person in the world who loves literature as much as I do, and _he_ is another subject entirely.

All these things are true; combine them and they make a wonderful, if not perfect, boyfriend.

But the thing is, it isn't enough.

I used to be able to tell myself that it was. I told myself _Hooray, I have a great boyfriend who loves me!_ And I was happy about it. I could lie to myself that that was all I wanted -- a boyfriend who didn't share my intense passion for written words. Someone with whom I had a decent amount of fun and took moderate pleasure in kissing. I could build him up so that he seemed like he was more than he really was.

The only problem is that lately, I can't seem to do that anymore. A small part of me is ecstatic because I'm finally being honest with myself, but the other part of me hates it, because puppy love was a great thing to be in.

And it's _his _fault.

Before _him_ I was perfectly fine with the way things were going with me and Dean. Before _him_ I loved simply having a sweet, caring boyfriend who doted on me endlessly. Before _him_ I believed that Dean really _was_ the perfect boyfriend.

Before _him_ I didn't realize what I had been missing.

With Jess things are different. With him I _can_ talk about all the books I've read, why I loved or hated them. Sure, we disagree sometimes, but that just makes it all the more interesting. If I'm completely honest with myself, I know that the times we debate over the merits of certain authors or books are some of my favorite times. I love the way his eyes widen earnestly when he's making a point. He leans forward, eager to share the reasons behind his opinion. And when I counter his explanation with reasons of my own, and he doesn't agree, he doesn't interrupt me. He just smirks in that maddening way of his, waits until I'm done, then jumps in with his own thoughts on the subject.

But the best part is that our conversation isn't limited to simply books. We talk about anything and everything. Everything except sports, which he isn't into either. We have so much in common, we're on our way to becoming pretty good friends.

This would not be a problem if I wasn't attracted to Jess. I lied to myself for weeks about that; there was no way I could think of him that way. I hadn't really been attracted to anyone since I started going out with Dean.

One day, though, it hit me. Someone might as well have jumped up in front of me, holding a bright neon sign that said "You like Jess!!" in bright red letters, and proceeded to pound me over the head with it. Repeatedly.

We weren't arguing at the time. We were at the diner, talking about _Howl_, and I said something about it. He said "Exactly!" like it was a miracle that he had found someone who agreed with him. It wasn't so much the conversation, though, as it was his expression as he said the word. His eyes lit up, and he smiled. Really smiled.

Cliched as it is, that smile took my breath away, and I felt the strongest urge to kiss him.

That was my moment of clarity. I probably confused him with my hasty retreat, but at that moment, I didn't care. I felt too horrible. How could I even _think_ of kissing someone besides Dean?

Since then, such thoughts enter my head a lot more often than I care to mention. I've learned to ignore them. Well, ignoring them is pretty much impossible, but I try desperately not to dwell on them, and I know that nothing can ever happen between us.

He's my friend. That's all. I have a wonderful boyfriend, as I've already mentioned. I could never do anything to hurt him. I'm not that kind of person.

This is my mantra. I repeat it over and over, and I try to ignore the fact that I'm drawn to another. And it works.

Until time like this.

I'm alone with Jess in his and Luke's -- who's downstairs, preparing to close the diner -- apartment. We're arguing about Hemingway again; this is our most common argument. It doesn't really change from time to time; it's just comforting, in a way, that we have this constant.

I always feel guilty at times like these, but tonight, it's almost overwhelming. I want to come clean, to tell Dean everything and break up with him. He's not the one I want; his name in my mouth draws a bitter taste. I want Jess.

Jess. His name is honey on my lips; sweet, addicting. Jess, Jess, Jess...

I snap.

"Jess," I speak it out loud. I don't mean to; it just happens.

He looks at me expectantly.

"I have to go," I say, standing up from the couch, and he's confused. I can see it in his eyes, even though he hides it behind his indifferent façade.

"Okay."

"I'll be back," I assure him, and he nods. I can't live this lie any longer; it's driving me insane.

I need to get to Dean's before this newfound courage wears away. I have to.

--

I did.

An hour later, I was standing in the shadows of the trees, watching Jess as he sat on the bridge, reading. It was sunset, and he was using the last remnants of sunlight to make out the words on the pages.

As I stood there, watching him, I felt free, elated.

I knew I should have been concerned about whether Jess felt the same way I did. Sure, there may have been a few signs that _could_ have implied that. But I was not one to take things for granted.

Which is why the plans rolling around in my head were so shocking and foreign.

I walked onto the bridge, my footsteps echoing into the night. When I reached Jess and sat down beside him, he turned to me, words of greeting on his lips.

They were stilled when I leaned over and touched my lips to his. It was a peck, lasting merely for one second, if that long. And yet, even in that brief moment, I felt a zap of electricity all the way down to my toes, and I knew I had done the right thing.

Jess pulled back, looked at me for an explanation.

"I broke up with Dean," I said, and that was all it took.

This time, he kissed me, and it was the best kiss I'd ever had. He pressed his mouth firmly to mine, letting the book fall to the bridge between us as his hands rested on my shoulders, drawing me to him. I complied willingly, pressing closer to him, inhaling his scent, feeling his lips against my own. Eventually, his tongue prodded gently at my lips, and I parted them, loving every single second of this feeling...this unmitigated bliss that surrounded me.

When he pulled back to catch his breath, he smiled, and I did too. It was involuntary, but I didn't mind.

"What was that?" he asked, taking my hand and entwining my fingers with his own.

"Something I've wanted to do for a long time," I admitted, gazing into his dark eyes; those eyes that revealed everything even when he tried to cover it up. At the moment, happiness was shining from them, and I knew mine were probably emitting the same thing.

"Me too," he said, simply. Jess wasn't one for a lot of words, and that was fine.

I leaned my head on his shoulder, snaking a hand down between us to pick up the paperback he had been reading. It was _The Sound and the Fury_.

"Good choice," I commented, holding up the book.

"I thought so."

"Have you read it before?" I asked, hoping he had so I could talk about it.

"Yep."

"What do you think of Faulkner's style of writing?"

"Brilliant. Especially for someone of his time."

"My thoughts exactly," I agreed, smiling.

I couldn't believe I had waited so long for this. I loved being with him, so much.

"So, do I get a kiss for having the right answer?"

"I think that could be arranged," I grinned, and leaned in to kiss him again.

In a way, I recall every detail of that night with complete clarity, and yet the whole thing as a whole is kind of a blur of elation, passion, and wonder.

I called my mother, let her know I was going to be out a little late. I figured we could have the whole conversation as to why later. At the moment, I just wanted to be with Jess.

Luckily for me, he felt the same, and as we sat there on what I later dubbed "our" bridge, I felt like I had every single thing I had been missing. And I loved that feeling.

It wasn't quite perfection -- after all, nothing ever is -- but it was close enough.

**The End**

**Review, please! With the exception of bread, chocolate, and Johnny Depp, they are the sole things that keep me alive!**


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